


tumblr fic

by cathedralhearts



Category: Hockey RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-26
Updated: 2017-09-23
Packaged: 2018-12-20 07:40:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 9
Words: 14,795
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11916267
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathedralhearts/pseuds/cathedralhearts
Summary: A place to home the snippets and drabbles I posted to Tumblr across the years. Multiple pairings, each chapter is a new fic.





	1. tswift meme fill - galchenyuk/gallagher

_so i'm in charge?_

_\--_

Brendan’s hunched over his keyboard, holed up in one of the computer labs, frantically trying to finish populating his spreadsheet before their class. He needed a stats class to finish his minor  – what the fuck for, considering he’s an archaeology minor, but he’s long since given up trying to understand the American education system – and this one happened to have Alexandra fucking Galchenyuk in it.

They’ve been put into groups for the entire semester, and forced to work together for every assignment. Alex is 6 foot of pissed off all-American with a Russian accent and a bad attitude. She’s doing an engineering degree and hates stats just as much as the rest of them, but god forbid anyone brings down her 4.0 GPA. And, for some reason, she’s got it in her head that Brendan is some sort of slacker, and has been cracking her figurative whip at his ass for the entire fucking semester.

He has no idea why she hates him so much. He’s literally done nothing but bend over backwards to get shit done on time and keep their marks awesome. He works harder than anyone else in their group to get his parts submitted, has even worked with Kelly and Pavel after class to help  _them_  out, and yet  _he’s_ the one that gets constantly berated, spammed with texts reminding him how to do shit, and generally harassed?

“Your total is wrong, it needs to come to 2.45 average,” that  _voice_  comes drifting over his shoulder, snapping him from his daydream. He grits his teeth.

“Fuck off, Alex, I’m not done yet,” he snaps, not taking his eyes from the screen. He feels her stiffen from next to him, and his Canadian guilt beseeches him to apologise, but his rage at this class and _her_ in general overrides any sense of propriety.

“I’m just trying to help–” she starts, but Brendan whirls around, as best as he can in the uncomfortable lab chair.

“Well you’re  _not helping_ ,” he hisses. A few people glare at them, and Alex looks scandalised. She’s in an hoodie and yoga pants, with her blonde hair scraped back into a bun and thick black-rimmed glasses making her ethereal blue eyes seem even bigger and bluer than usual. Brendan swallows and works hard to keep his glare.

On their first day in class, he’d thought how cute she was and even though she was almost a foot taller than him, maybe she wouldn’t mind a short guy. That all went down the drain when they were thrown together for their first assignment and her eyes zoned in on him, as if he were the weak chink in her armour.

“I didn’t ask you to come here, you just invited yourself. I think I’ve proved I know what I’m doing by now, so either sit down and shut up, or  _go away_.”

She blinks, and drops into the empty seat beside him. Brendan’s mouth snaps shut. He…definitely wasn’t expecting that.

She just reaches into her backpack and pulls out a Tupperware, cracking it open and offering him a fork. He stares at it.

“What.”

She shrugs, looking irritated. “Pirogi. My mom made them. There’s pork meat, beef, jam and something with cabbage, I think. She said you deserve them for putting up with me this semester.” She takes his hand ( _her fingers are so soft,_ he thinks, before shaking himself from the thought) and puts the fork in it, jabbing it in one and nodding. “This is pork. Go on."

Brendan has no idea what the fuck is going on, but he eats the dumpling and  _oh my god_. He has to work really fucking hard not to moan like a porn star, because it tastes so good.

“Your mom is amazing,” he says, poking his fork in another. It’s jam, but tastes just as good. Alex looks vindicated and smiles, which makes Brendan’s heart do a little jump-skip. He flushes and drops his fork in the Tupperware, turning back to the keyboard.

Alex eats while he types, and then a fork appears in his periphery with more pirogi. He eats, semi-distracted, and by the time he’s finished, they’ve demolished the Tupperware and made their way through half a bag of veggie chips and a thermos of tea she’d pulled from her backpack.

“Your mom’s thorough, gotta give her that,” Brendan says as he yawns and submits the assignment, sagging back in his chair. Their grade is in God’s hands now-– well, their professor, who thinks himself God enough-– and Alex goes pink. Brendan idly thinks it’s a good look on her.

“I, uh. I might’ve asked her to help. The chips and tea was my idea, too,” she says haltingly, as if the words are costing her. Brendan frowns.

“Why?”

“Because I’ve… been unfair to you. I know you’re smart, and I thought you were lazy, but you did well. You always did well. I didn’t want you to keep hating me.” She looks down in her lap.

“I don’t hate you,” Brendan lies. He really, really did hate her; has spent most of the semester hating her, even though he kind of knew what she was doing.

“Liar,” she says. Brendan rolls his eyes.

“I thought you were really cute, and then I thought you were a bitch, and then I thought you were just a smart kid trying to keep her awesome GPA. Can’t hate on that,” he says with a shrug. Might as well get what cards he has out on the table.

She looks up, blinking at him through the lenses of her glasses.

“You… you thought I was cute?”

Brendan shrugs again, and nods. “Yeah.”

“But, ah. Not anymore?” She sounds kind of disappointed. 

“I, uh. I dunno. I guess so?” This is getting into weird territory. The guy two stations down from them snorts. Brendan knows he’s jossing this, but what the hell is going on? He takes a breath, and takes a leap. “I, um. Do you want to go out tomorrow? Like, for dinner or a movie or something?”

She’s looking at him, and all Brendan can think is that she’s a lot braver than he gave her credit for being.

“Oh. Uh. Okay. I'd like that.” She breaks out in an amazing smile, and Brendan can’t help but smile back.

"Awesome!"

“Great. Well, you’ll be in charge for the date. Pick somewhere nice, come get me at 7. Surprise me, eh?” she says, unfolding her lithe, long limbs and standing up, reaching for her backpack. Brendan nods dumbly and watches her leave.


	2. tswift meme fills - brown/seguin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is set in North Bay, ON. It’s about a three-hour drive north of Toronto, up past Barrie, and is about an hour from Muskoka. The extent of my knowledge is Google and I’m sorry if you are either from there or adjacent to/know more than me.

_friday night beneath the stars_

_in a field behind your yard_

_you and i are paintin' pictures in the sky_

_\--_

 

It’s Ty’s last week of senior year at Widdifield, and all he wants to do is lie in the grass and stare up at the sky. He just wants to breathe, just for a little bit.

* * *

It’s not his grass, is the thing. It’s not his family’s land, anyway. It’s the Brown property, off near Delaney Lake. They’ve got a huge house and the acreage to match, and Ty’s been coming out here for years, since they were kids. He’ll go inside when he’s done, eat with the Browns, talk to Cody about his graduation next year, pat the family dog Kelsey with his foot and feed her sneaky bits off the table, smiling bashfully when Linda catches him anyway. It’s his way of keeping his connection to Tyler somehow.

Tyler’s gone off to work in Muskoka, has been there a couple of years now. He comes back a lot during the year when business is quiet, but Ty’s been accepted to York and Ottawa so they won’t be able to see each other much at all anymore.

(He applied to Nippising as well, as a safety, but the idea of staying in North Bay is just… he needs to get out.)

Being a country kid isn’t so bad. There’s a few malls to hang out in, lots of fishing and swimming and camping to be done, and he’s worked at the marina until he was sixteen. Tyler got jobs at the garden store and the Memorial Arena, and they’d harass each other when their shifts didn’t overlap. One of his bosses got talking to Tyler one afternoon while Ty was serving, and the next thing he knew, Tyler had been offered a great job at Redline, working charters and competitive fishing gigs.

Ty’s missed him every day since.

* * *

 

“You seem quiet tonight. Everything okay, baby?” Linda asks him as he stares into his pasta bake. He shakes himself out of it, looking up to see Cody and George watching him.

“Oh, uh. Sorry. Just tired. Last week and all,” he lies. George nods wisely and starts talking about the Blue Jays with Cody, but Linda keeps watching him.

“Thanks for dinner, Linda,” he says when he finishes the washing up with her. He pulls the keys to his beaten up old Jeep from his pocket, but she reaches for his hand and holds him.

“Ty,” she says. Ty freezes.

“Have you told Tyler about college?” she asks quietly. Of course she knows. She’s one of the teachers at his school, and works closely with the guidance councillor on applications. Ty had called in when he got his acceptance letters to York and Ottawa. Him, a dumb kid from North Bay, was going to a huge university in a city.

Ty shakes his head. “I, uh. I was gonna wait until I went out to Muskoka,” he finally says.

He usually heads out to Muskoka for a week or two over the summer, unable to go for long without seeing Tyler. It’s pathetic, so see through, but Tyler never sends him away, always seems glad.

“He’s going to be upset,” she says, no judgement in her eyes. 

No shit.

Tyler hadn’t even wanted to take the charter gig at first. He’d made half-hearted noises about going full time at the garden centre, with the vague indication it’d be until Ty graduated and then they’d make whatever decision then. The money was too good, and Tyler didn’t deserve to be hemmed in by potted plants and manure. Besides, they weren’t together, and no matter how much he wanted it to be, Ty didn’t want to be the one holding Tyler back.

(He’d quit the marina not long after Tyler left and started working at The Moose, unable to deal with the sight of boats and charters.)

“Probably,” Tyler shrugs. She sighs and squeezes down on his wrist.

“He rang us last weekend, and said he was getting sick of working on the charter. I think this might be his last summer there.”

Ty’s heart starts to beat a little faster at that. Tyler hadn’t mentioned anything like that to him in their last Skype. He had been tanned and shirtless, his hair fluffy from his nap, bitching about the rich couple from last weekend. “There’s a buck’s night coming out for the entire weekend, so excited,” he’d said, grinning and laughing a little. Ty had his covers pulled up, half-asleep and exhausted from exams, but Tyler always had a way of making all of that fall away.

“Oh,” Ty manages. Linda smiles and hugs him, presses leftovers into his arms and tells him to say hi to his mom and the girls. He drives back across town to their place in Pinewood, parking his Jeep haphazardly on the front lawn. His parents got divorced a few years back and his dad moved out near Fricker, which was apparently far enough for him to be from Mom but close enough to still see Ty and his sisters every weekend.  
  
Cassidy and Candace are at the kitchen table, and dive on the Tupperware as soon as he sets it down.

“Didn’t you eat?” he asks, grabbing forks for them and sitting down.

“Mom made stir fry but it was gross. We knew you were out at the Lake so we just had some toast and waited,” Cassidy says, groaning around a mouthful of the pasta bake.

“Finish your homework,” he says, rubbing Candace’s head and laughing as she yelps, smacking him as he goes past.

His computer is dinging as he walks in, shrugging off his jeans in favour of shorts, and when he pulls up Skype, it’s Tyler.

“Dude, I called like four times, where the hell have you been?” Tyler’s in his lounge room, pizza in his hand and looking pissy.

“It’s Thursday, I was at yours. Dumbass.” Ty goes pink as Tyler stops chewing on his food.

“You… you still go to my house every Thursday?”

“No shit. Your mom rang me the first one I wasn’t there by seven and was all,  _where are you?_  so I kept going. It’s nice. I’ve pranked your room hardcore,” he grins. Tyler flips him the bird but keeps eating his pizza.

“So, tell me,” Tyler says after Ty’s complained about exams and he’s demolished three slices of pizza.

“Tell you what?”

Tyler rolls his eyes.

“University. You got your offers back, yeah?” he says. Ty stills. They hadn’t ever talked about college applications. It always felt so… off limits.

“Um, yeah. Nippising sent me a letter,” he says slowly. Tyler waves a hand, a  _hurry up_.

“Who cares about Nippising. Where else?”

“Uh. York… and Ottawa.”

Tyler breaks out into a huge grin. “Dude, that’s amazing! Congratulations, I’m so proud of you!”

It feels so forced, like Ty should be happy about this, but it means seeing Tyler even  _less_ than he does and he just— he  _can’t_.

“But it’s not!” he bursts out, and Tyler frowns.

“What’s not?”

“Not amazing! We’re never gonna see each other anymore. I barely get to see you as it is, you’re always in Muskoka or home when I’m super busy with shit, and I’m gonna be, I mean. School’s gonna be so busy. When am I going to see you?” He’s whining by the end of it, but he feels so shitty about this.

Tyler sighs, long and unhappy.

“Babe,” he starts, but Ty doesn’t want to hear that word from Tyler’s mouth, not when it doesn’t mean what he wants it to.

“But maybe it’s a good thing. I mean, I’ve been so hung up on you for ages, maybe more space will be good for me.”

It hangs between them for a minute, Ty’s heart beating in time with the clock on his wall, Tyler just staring at him.

“What,” he says. Ty shrugs, irritated.

“You heard me.”

“Tyler.  _Tyler_. I fucking asked you out when I was in junior year. You said _no_.” Tyler looks pissed, and Ty feels like he’s rapidly losing control of the situation.

“No you didn’t! I never would’ve said no!”

Tyler’s shaking his head. “ _No_. I told you I liked you, and asked if you wanted to go out, and you said no. Then the next day you acted like nothing happened!”

Ty throws up his hands and flops back in his chair. “I literally don’t remember this ever happening. You must’ve done the shittiest job ever.”

“Fuck you, it was awesome,” Tyler mumbles. “So… what happens now?”

Ty bites his lip. “Your mom told me you wanted to quit the charter.”

Even with the shitty Skype video quality, he can see Tyler go pink. “Thinking about it, yeah. I’ve got heaps saved up, and I’m sure I can find something.”

“Something where?” Ty asks.

Tyler groans. “C’mon, man,” he says. Ty just crosses his arms.

“ _Fine_. Somewhere wherever you are.”

Ty giggles. “God, that sounds just as cheesy as I thought it would.”

“Fuck you,” Tyler snaps, but he’s grinning and they just smile stupidly at each other.

* * *

 

Tyler quits his job and Ty accepts the offer from York, and then the summer is thrown wide open for both of them.

Ty wakes up for work, shuffling through his shower and pulling on his uniform— black pants, black shirt and name tag, stumbling downstairs to find his Capt’n Crunch and then drive on over for his 9-3 shift.

Instead he finds Tyler sitting there, chirping Candace and Cassidy, both still in their pyjamas and looking just as unimpressed with Tyler as they ever have.

“What the fuck,” Ty blurts out.

Cassidy yells, “Swear jar!” and Candace rolls her eyes as she drags their little sister bodily from the room, hissing something about  _alone time_.

“I drove back from Muskoka this morning. Boss had me train the new guy and then let me go. Paid me out my bonus and everything.” Tyler looks nervous, and wipes his hands on his jeans.

Distantly, Ty knows he needs to talk, but he is honestly at a loss for something, for anything to say. Tyler looks so fucking good, his year-long tan settled on his skin and his beard closely shaven to his face, muscles tensing under his v-neck. Ty wants to touch  _everything_.

“Seggy?” Tyler starts, slowly standing up. That snaps Ty from his daze, and he crosses the room and grabs Tyler, kissing him hard and fast. Tyler grunts but gets with the program pretty fucking quickly, and the next thing he knows he’s pressed against the fridge, Tyler’s hand up his shirt and fingers tweaking his nipple, as he grinds down on Tyler’s rapidly hardening dick.

“Wait, I’ve got work,” Ty gasps out, as Tyler moves to suck on his neck.

Tyler groans. “Can’t you call in sick?”

Ty pushes Tyler off, and pulls his shirt down. “Everyone will know you’re back by now. No, we gotta… tonight.”

Tyler sighs and sits back down, pouting. Ty shakes his head and goes to the cupboard, grinning like a fucking moron, and sits down next to him, pouring a generous serving in his bowl.

“Asshole. You didn’t even warn me,” Ty says.

Tyler shrugs, leaning an arm over the back of the chair. “Wanted to get a head start on Toronto.”

Ty’s grin is so sloppy, so stupid and impossibly  _happy_ , and when Tyler leans over to kiss the taste of cereal and milk from his mouth, Ty can’t find it in him to stop it.


	3. dead like me -- crosby/malkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by Dead Like Me, mentions some of the show’s elements and a lot of my own twists/amendments. If you haven’t seen the show, check yourself.

The Council of the Dead hands Sidney his reap via his phone, as they always do. A text two days after each reap, with a new name and a new location. They never make it easy for him and give full names or a photo-– just initials, a vague location, and a date.

_E.M. - WILKES BOOKSTORE - 30/6_

* * *

 

Sidney gets to the bookstore early on the day, and is relieved to find there’s a coffee station there. He pays for a cappuccino with three sugars, picks up a battered copy of Dante’s  _Inferno_  (the irony is not lost on him) and waits.

He never really knows what he’s supposed to do, until he gets that familiar itch on his nose. Each reaper has a different tell when their reap comes into close range–- Flower sneezes, Kris’ knee twitches, Hilary gets that stuck-in-your-throat sensation, and the pressure in Sunshine’s ears go all silly for a second or two.

His tell could be worse, is all he’s saying. He scratches as he’s draining his first cup and contemplating a second, and the doorbell jingles at exactly eleven minutes past eight.

When Sidney looks up and watches his reap make his way to the coffee desk, laughing and asking for a mocha with a double shot, Sidney really wishes they’d given him any other name in the world.

Of all the reaps. Of _all the reaps_.

Sidney does the most logical, responsible thing… and flees.

* * *

 

“You  _left_?” Hilary demands. They’re at Cathy’s Diner, their usual meet place for as long as Sidney can remember. Sidney’s moping into his pancakes and bacon.

“What was I supposed to do?” He’s really trying not to whine right now. He should be given a medal.

“A guy you had a crush on when you were alive is now your reap. Just do it and move on. He’s gotta die, brah.” Hilary has a strawberry milkshake and a nonchalant air about her.

Sidney shakes his head. “It was more than that. I was-– I was going to a _date_ with him, the night I died.”

It’s been two years, and it’s the last real, tangible memory he has of the Before. Mario told him to hang on to the memories of the Before, to get him through however long it took him to make his thousand reaps and he was allowed to pass on. Fucking bullshit system. When he passed on and found the reaper who had him as their last reap, he was going to kick their ass.

It’s hard to remember what number of reaps you’re up to, anyway. After a while they just start blurring into each other. He’s met a lot of reapers, and none of them knew, only had vague ideas of what hundreds they were hovering around.

The Council of the Dead didn’t like their reapers knowing, anyway. Something about conflicts of interest.

Sidney turns his pleading on to Hilary, who’s always up for something fun. “Can’t you just take him for me? I honestly can’t do it.”

Hilary rolls her eyes. They’re not technically supposed to swap reaps, but she got a little old lady who’s probably going to get hit by a bus at a crossing, and Hilary’s soft spot for little old ladies is unparalleled. “Fine,” she says belatedly, and grabs a napkin to write down the details. “But if it goes south, I’m blaming you,” she says, stuffing the last of her breakfast burrito into her mouth and heading out.

Sidney just sinks into the booth and wonders how the fuck he ended up here.

* * *

 

Hilary doesn’t come back.

Sidney gets worried when he hasn’t seen her two days later. Duper and Kris are playing poker at their table when Sidney comes back from his reap of her little old lady– poor thing had gotten cleaned up by the P40 coming down Whitman, the driver busy reading a text-– and throws himself into the booth.

“Where’s Hilary?” he demands. Duper pulls a phone out his pocket. It’s Hilary’s. He only knows this because it’s got an Anaheim Ducks logo case on it, and Sidney’s stomach swoops.

“Her last reap was her thousandth. She passed on. The new guy is being firmed up. Gabbie’s bringing him by in a bit. She found him wandering around downtown, poor guy.” Duper eyeballs Sidney. “Wasn’t that the reap you were supposed to have?”

_Oh, fuck._

Sidney’s frozen, unable to move or speak as the diner doorbell jingles, and Gabbie appears with their new reaper in tow right behind her.

Sidney swallows, his mouth dry, as he watches Gabbie get to the table, her smile tired and her gait a little off. It’s getting close to her time too, is all he can think before his mind gets lost in a wave of  _itsyouitsyouitsyou_.

“Everyone, this is Hilary’s replacement. His name is Evgeni, but he goes by-–”

“Geno,” Sidney says.

Geno looks up from the floor, and his eyes widen.

“…Sid?”

“Well, isn’t this awkward,” Duper says, interrupting the pregnant pause that threatens to suffocate them all.

Sidney’s unable to tear his gaze away, and Geno looks hard pressed to do the same.

“You never show up,” Geno says. Sidney swallows again, his fingers twisting in his hoodie sleeve.

“I, uh. I died. On the way to our date. I got robbed, and um. I tried to, but.”

Geno looks stricken, and Duper stands up and pushes Geno gently down into the booth.

“I’ll order you some food. You look dead on your feet, _ha ha_.”

Duper takes Gabbie to the counter, and Sidney just soaks Geno in. He looks exactly the same as he did two years ago, when Sidney finally mustered up the courage to ask him out, as they laughed over reaching for the same apples in the greengrocers. Sidney had been dancing around it for weeks, agonising, and Geno had always greeted him with the same sweet smile, asking after his sister and how his job was.

“I’m dead too,” Geno says, breaking Sidney from his daydreams.

“I know,” Sidney says.

“At least maybe we can go on date now, we both dead, nobody die on the way?” Geno cracks a smile, and Sidney can’t help but do the same, relief rushing through him.

“That sounds nice, G.”


	4. genderswap meet!cute -- crosby/malkin

Sid’s horrifically late, and it’s her first day at her new job. Like, she is _so horrifically late_ she contemplated calling in sick, or saying her grandma died –  _anything_  to excuse what actually happened.

When she gets to the office, everything has gone to hell in a hand basket. Her carefully styled bun has slipped loose, dark, curly tendrils wisping around her face, her skirt is rumpled, the back of her heel is bleeding because she didn’t have time for a plaster, and there’s a run in her tights. She will curse out every asshole who tripped her on the way to her subway station, pushed her against commuters so she spilled her coffee on her skirt, organised construction in said subway so she was stuck on the train for an extra twenty minutes, which then had her speed walking from her station to her new office-– causing the run in her tights, rubbing and general unkempt appearance. Fuck  _life_.

She takes another look at the email HR sent her, squinting because she hasn’t got time to find her glasses. It  _looks_ like a 17, so she mashes her finger on that and waits, praying she’s got it right. It is her first goddamned day and she’s so late she wants to cry.

The lift  _dings_  and she staggers out, hitching her laptop bag higher on her shoulder as she hurries down the corridor towards the receptionist.

The receptionist looks at her with bemusement, obviously taking in the complete mess that Sid has become since leaving her house that morning.

“Hi! I’m  _so_  sorry, it’s my first day and I’m  _so late,_ you just have no idea of my morning and I’m sure that doesn’t excuse anything, but-–” Sid’s horrified to feel herself tearing up, and the smile slides off the receptionist’s face and is replaced with one of concern.

“Don’t cry, is okay!” she says, her accent making the words lilt pleasantly. She stands up and holds a hand out. Sid takes it and lets herself be led to sit at the chair, letting her handbag and laptop bag sink to the ground as she’s handed a tissue.

“Hang on, I’m be right back,” she soothes, disappearing into the main office. Sid sniffles, dabs at her eyes and sets to her bun, because at least she can fix  _that_.

 

The receptionist reappears with a huge teacup, painted pale blue with beautiful pink flowers, and sets it down by Sid’s elbow. She bends by Sid’s side and inspects her tights. 

“What size are you?” she says. Sid sniffles some more, but tells the girl her stocking size.

“I think so, but just to be sure. One of accounts girls is same size as you, has spare pair, she says take.”

Sid feels herself welling up again as she’s offered a packet of tights, in a similar colour to the flesh tone she’s wearing. “Oh my gosh, that’s so nice, I can’t-– how can I-–” She just dabs at her eyes, giving up on trying to say anything more. 

“What's your name? I’m Gina.”

Sid rubs at her nose and offers a small smile. “I’m Sidney.”

“Ah, yes. New paralegal. We expecting you. Heard lots of great things. Sidney Crosby, best paralegal in city, very lucky you want come here.” Gina smiles, a great big one that makes Sid smile back, completely unbidden. 

Now that she’s stopped crying, mostly, Sid takes Gina in. She’s tall and lean, yet somehow managing to be curvy in the pretty dress she’s wearing, of a similar colour and style to the cup by Sid’s elbow. Her hair is pulled back in a ponytail, with waves cascading down her back. Big brown eyes and pouty lips finish off the package, making Sid bite down on her own. Now is not the time to develop a crush.

“Thanks Gina,” she says.

“No more tears, okay? At least you here now. Boss is late anyway, stuck in traffic. Other boss is in meeting, will be for another hour. They ask me to give you induction, so we say you here on time. Must be little bit quick though, sorry.” Gina looks apologetic, as if she isn’t just doing Sid a huge favour.

“Oh, I couldn’t ask you to lie for me–-” Sid starts.

Gina shakes her head and refuses to let Sid finish.

“Don’t be silly. Have very bad morning, cannot let turn into bad day! Now, we fix tights and hair, okay? Need Band-Aid? Those shoes look like they rub.” Gina winces as Sid nods, turning to show the blood having come through.

“Lucky for you, I have  _lots_. I like shoes but they hate me.” Gina stands and turns, showing the back of her heel. Sid laughs, because the ones she has are cow patterned.

“No laughing!” Gina scolds, but offers out a hand to help Sid up. Sid shakes her head but takes Gina’s hand, letting herself be led to the bathroom, Gina chattering away about the business and their evacuation plans while she tends to Sid’s ankles and redoes her bun.

Sid’s glowing when Gina hands her off to her new bosses a half-hour later, her shitty morning so far removed from her mind, even though she’s dressed in borrowed stockings. Gina has somehow managed to make everything better.

* * *

 

Sid’s been at the firm for over a month, and is buried in research for a case when there’s a knock on her door. She glances up, pushing her glasses further up her nose, and smiles when she sees Gina.

“Good afternoon, Sid,” Gina greets.

“ _Privet_ , Gina,” Sid says back.

Gina blushes, because she’s so easy for Sid whenever she speaks Russian. Sid blushes back, because she’s so easy for Gina whenever she does  _anything_.

“Lunch break,” Gina says, holding up a plastic bag. Sid’s stomach chooses that moment to remind her that she’s hungry, so she nods eagerly.

Gina’s made a point of having lunch with Sid every day since she arrived. Sid is really finding it hard to mind.

Today Gina’s made Olivier salad and Sid baked bread last night, so they share the food between them, staking out their usual table in the lunch room. Gina makes them peach tea as Sid divvies up their meal, and they settle into easy chat about their day, Sid laughing like an idiot at everything Gina says. She knows she’s being so transparent with her little crush; even the lawyers are asking her slyly if she’s asked Gina out yet.

She doesn’t know what Gina’s into, and is honestly too scared to risk their easy friendship for an intangible she can’t control, so she just… enjoys what’s there. It’s  _fine_.

“Sid?” Gina says, pouting. There’s mayo on the edge of her lip and she isn’t wearing her glasses, so Sid’s hit with a double whammy. She can’t stop herself from leaning forward to rub her thumb along the bottom of Gina’s lip, entranced.

“Sorry, you just, ah,” Sid says, flustered. Gina’s tongue darts out to swipe where Sid’s finger just was.

“Thanks,” Gina says, a little hoarse. They both blush and look back at their salads, falling into an awkward silence until Gina remembers a story about Beau, one of the newest junior associates, involving a Halloween party and dressing as one fourth of KISS. Sid’s in stitches by the time it ends, barely able to keep herself in her chair, the awkwardness all but forgotten.

* * *

 

Sid finds out Gina’s birthday is on the 31st, which is hilarious because it’s Harry Potter’s birthday. Gina’s always complaining about how she wants to read the books but is too lazy to get the English ones.

In a stroke of creepiness that may very well come across as too strong for a friendship of only a few months, Sid orders the entire series in Russian and has them expedited over. In her mind, Gina did her a massive favour when she started, so this is just assuaging Sid’s extreme Canadian guilt.

The box set is beautiful, so Sid buys special wrapping paper with Snitches and Harry Potter glasses on it, wrapping it carefully and tying it together with a thick golden bow. Satisfied, she then sits down and stares at the card, trying to figure out what to say.

In the end, she Googles “Pushkin poetry” and finds something she thinks she can pass off easily enough as a show of like, friendly love… as opposed to the maybe  _love_ love she feels.

*

 

Sid places the card and present on Gina’s desk, along with a large venti caramel mocha from Starbucks and double times it to her office. She hunkers down with her chocolate croissant and own drink, and starts pretending to do work.

It’s pathetic how transparent she is.

Kuni appears at her doorway, a cup of tea in his hands, the teabag being dunked slowly in and out of his cup.

“Gina’s sitting at her desk, you know. She looks like she just got hit by a plank. Figuratively, of course. Turns out someone bought her the entire collection of Harry Potter in Russian, and wrote her some poetry by some famous Russian guy.” Kuni’s voice is mild, but Sid feels herself going so red anyway.

“Oh?” she says, aiming for cool and coming off the total opposite.

She takes a sip of her drink and almost spills it down her dress (a simple white shift she  _knows_ Gina likes, considering last time she wrote it Gina couldn’t stop complimenting her on it), putting it hurriedly back on the table and pushing it to the side.

“I think I’m being too obvious,” Sid whispers. Kuni’s the only one she trusts talking about her crush on Gina, partly because he’s married and works in family law, and partly because when he’s a dick to her, it’s about how much of a pussy she’s being on the Gina front.

“I think it’s gotten to the point where the whole office wants you two to get together. Just stop the pining already, god.” Kuni shakes his head and walks off as Sid’s phone lights up.

 _Reception_ , it says. Sid gulps.

“H-hello?” she says.

“Sid. Come to my desk.”

Gina hangs up before Sid can answer. Sid feels her stomach sink. She stands up and smooths out her dress, puts her heels back on and heads outside. She wore her hair down today and everything (because Gina likes it), and now Gina’s going to tell her she’s being a creepy weirdo and they can’t be friends anymore.

God, this is the last time she ever acts on her gut.

“Sid,” Gina says, once Sid’s come through the glass doors from the office and into reception. Gina’s in her chair, the box of books by her computer, and the card in her lap.

She looks utterly gorgeous in a dark brown shirt, with pink heels to match the flowers in her skirt. Her hair is in a ponytail again, her lips slicked with hot pink gloss and Sid can smell her perfume from the other side of the desk. She wants her  _so bad_.

“Hi Gina. Happy birthday,” Sid says, swiping her hands down the side of her dress nervously.

“You write me Pushkin,” Gina says in a small voice. Sid nods.

“I-I’m sorry if it’s inappropriate, I just… I wanted to find something special for your birthday.”

Gina stands up and comes to a stop in front of Sid. Even in heels Gina towers over her, almost a foot. She’s so tall and beautiful; Sid just wants to tilt her face up and let Gina take whatever she wants. As it is, Gina grips her shoulder and runs her hand down Sid’s arm, lacing their fingers together.

She looks down at the passage Sid wrote in Russian, copying the Cyrillic painstakingly from her laptop screen.

 _How sweet it is! But, gods, how it is dangerous –_  
To hear you, to catch your dear gaze!  
Can I forget your smile, your looking, languorous  
And talking, magical and full of inner blaze?

“I really like you, Sid. Was hoping this was… more than just friends gift? Really nice Pushkin you write me, about… my smile, happiness, nice magic. I like so much.”

Sid nods, moving closer to Gina, because she just-– one kiss, just  _one_. She pushes up on her toes to lean against Gina, pressing into her and touching their lips together. Gina wraps her free arm around Sid, holding her still so she can kiss back.

Sid can’t help the moan that escapes as Gina squeezes her tighter, her hand slipping down to cup Sid’s ass. Her hand fits perfectly, with long fingers spreading across Sid’s cheek, squeezing hard enough to make Sid tingle.  

“ _Sid_ ,” Gina sighs as she pulls back, brushing Sid’s hair back from her face, looping a curl or two behind her ear.

“ _Gina_ ,” Sid whines. Gina laughs.

“More at lunch… and tonight, maybe. You come over? Can cook me birthday dinner. Best birthday present ever.”

“As long as I get to be dessert,” Sid says with a smile. Gina laughs again, leaning back in for one more kiss. Sid hums happily. She likes being the best birthday present ever.


	5. shore leave!au -- crosby/malkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> warnings for mpreg and military.  
> inspiration from TFLN.

**(706): I’m in a hotel full of Marines. I’m leaving here pregnant.**

 --

Sidney stares down at the white stick on his bathroom counter, not really sure what to do. What he thought was food poisoning and then exhaustion from his studies now has a name.

Its name is a plus on the end of a pregnancy test, and Sidney knows exactly how he got here. He doesn’t know where he’s going next, or how the hell he’s supposed to navigate being a single father and writing his PhD whilst being a TA and working, but he definitely knows where this came from.

“Pregnant,” he says, and sits back down on the toilet.

Shit.

* * *

 

When he’d pitched his thesis idea to the head of the political sciences department at UPenn, he expected to get laughed out the building. The only reason he even dared is because Mario’s an old family friend, and he’s been living with them to save on costs since freshman year. Mario encouraged his love for military history from a young age, and it was the only reason he applied to UPenn in the first place.

So when he landed on the Russian armed forces as a topic, focusing specifically on naval policy and history between 1989 and 2009, he decided to discuss it with Mario before he put any effort into his submission. Mario had smiled, said it sounded like a great idea and the university would definitely push together some funding for him. Everything fell into place after that. He started his PhD in the fall semester and was taken on as a TA by Professor Sergei Gonchar, head of the Russian Studies department. More importantly, Sergei also has contacts in the Russian military for Sidney’s thesis.

“Shore leave is coming up, and they’re stopping in New York.  _Varyag_ , their Cruiser ship, has a friend of mine on it that is willing to talk to you about your thesis.” Sergei looks at Sidney over the top of his glasses. He slides a plane ticket across the desk, and Sidney reaches for it.

“Understand this, Sid. He will talk to you, but it must be anonymous. He could be in a lot of danger speaking about Russian customs, especially in the military. The navy is no exception.”

Sidney nods. He  _gets_  it, he knows how lucky he is to get this opportunity, and creates a carefully curated list of questions. His iPhone has a recorder on it, but he doubts this guy – Captain Lieutenant Malkin, Sergei tells him – is going to let him record shit.

* * *

 

When they meet, it’s in a dingy hotel room that Sidney pays for in cash. He’s emailed the information to an address that Sergei gave him, and waits.

And waits.

And  _waits_.

It’s almost forty-five minutes past their designated meet time and Sidney’s pissed and about to give up and head back to Pittsburgh when there’s a knock on the door. He freezes and stands up, and is still standing when the door opens and a guy walks through.

He’s dressed in the Russian navy’s uniform, a hat tucked under his arm, and Sidney’s mouth goes dry. It’s no secret he’s partly into military history for his own kink for a man in uniform, but he’s under no illusions that this is purely business. He appreciates Malkin nonetheless as he apologises for his lateness in choppy English, stretching out a huge hand. His palm is dry and his fingers are calloused as Sidney shakes it and takes him in; he’s tall, well over six foot, and broad under his uniform. He’s exactly Sidney’s speed.

“Uh, so…” Sidney starts, sitting back down at the tiny table. Malkin (“Call me Geno,” he says with a smile when Sidney fumbles around his name) – Geno – sits across from him, sprawled out on the chair, a smile playing around his lips.

“What you want know?” Geno asks. Sidney swallows.

* * *

 

It takes six more meetings, of longer than two hours each session, spread across four days. Sidney’s staying in the same hotel but a slightly better room, not by much, and he’s called Sergei twice to tell him it’s going well.

Geno answers him frankly, fills in his blanks and gives him context on the Russian Federation in ways books and journals can only help with so much, and he really wishes he could have Geno as more than just a nameless source.

They go out for a beer after their last interview finishes, Sidney tucking away his notebook sadly and Geno looking a little wistful himself. Geno changes into casual clothes, the uniform garnering too much attention (Sidney mourns that, too), and they hit up a bar down the street and drink for a few hours together, batting childhood stories back and forth.

Geno’s hilarious, a wicked sense of humour masquerading under sleepy, basset hound eyes and a cheeky grin and Sidney likes to think he catches Geno appreciating something in himself a few times; mostly his ass as he heads up for refills.

They leave the bar and head back to Sidney’s hotel, standing out the front, listing into each other with the drink.

“I don’t want to say goodbye,” Sidney sighs, tongue loose from the alcohol. Geno inhales sharply, and brings up a hand to cup at his cheek. Sidney nuzzles into it, and blinks up at Geno. He curses, says something guttural in Russian, before he leans in and kisses Sidney, wet and slick.

They tumble into bed together and it’s passionate and wild, exactly as Sidney’s expecting. Geno fucks him and Sidney takes a moment to wonder if he took his pill that morning, before Geno gets a hand on his dick and it’s the last thing on his mind.

* * *

 

So yeah. Turns out Sidney didn’t take his pill, and six weeks later he’s looking at a pregnancy stick that’s not telling him shit, beyond the fact that he’s expecting.

He spends another week panicking over whether he’s going to keep the baby, now that he knows it exists. He’s pro-choice, has been ever since he found out that he carried the gene and the specialists made him aware exactly how dangerous male pregnancies were. Being pregnant wasn’t something he’d considered, especially not at 25.

The first person he tells, once he decides he’s going to keep it, is Sergei. Because he needs to tell Geno somehow, all things considered.

“You fucked Zhenya, and now you want to tell him you’re pregnant with his child.” Sergei looks unimpressed and amused all at once, and Sidney flushes. He’s not showing yet, probably won’t for another couple of months, but he palms his stomach and sets his jaw.

“It’s the right thing to do. I’ll tell him that I can do this on my own, but I’d… I’d want to know, if it were me.”

Sergei nods and tells Sidney he’ll pass on the message, and let him know if there’s any response. Sidney excuses himself and heads back to Mario’s, where he’s got a seminar to prepare for Sergei’s second year class on Russian Literature.

* * *

The news makes it way slowly around his friends and family, and he ignores the pang as the days slide into weeks and Sergei has nothing for him from Geno.

“He got the message, told me he did, but I haven’t heard anything since. Internet reception is bad on the sea, and male pregnancy isn’t exactly legal in Russia.” Sergei looks at him with pity, and Sidney shrugs. He knew that it wasn’t going to end in a romantic fairytale, but it still sucks.

* * *

 

It’s been three weeks since Sergei told Geno about the situation, and Sidney’s in the kitchen of the Lemieux house, making himself a sandwich, when the doorbell rings. He frowns and pops a brownie square in his mouth, chewing as he pads to the front door. He’s not expecting anyone, and nobody’s got any deliveries coming.

When he opens the door, he almost chokes on the food.

Geno’s standing there, a cab pulling away down the drive. There’s two large suitcases and a duffle bag with Cyrillic writing stamped across it, Капитан-лейтенант Ма́лкин underneath the Russian armed forces insignia.

“Hi,” he says, sheepish. He’s in jeans and a tight white v-neck, tanned from months on the sea and his eyes hidden behind sunglasses that he pulls off and tucks into his pants.

Sidney’s jaw drops, once he’s managed to swallow. “ _Geno?_ ”

Geno nods, shifting from one foot to the other.

“Sorry I’m not reply fast, was back in Pacific. Had to finish rotation.” He rubs the back of his neck. 

“Are you…” words are failing Sidney, honestly.

Geno nods again, that smile blossoming on his face. “I’m discharge. Honourable. Done with service, have baby to think of. Have you to think of.”

Sidney’s gaping, he knows he is, but he steps forward and grabs Geno, hauls him in and kisses him. Geno’s arms wrap around him and hold him close, and Sidney tries to pour everything into it, because who the fuck quits the  _military_  because he knocked up some civilian on shore leave?

“I’m help raise baby, Sid. I’m be… I want you, want to do with you. Be with you.”

Sidney was sure his dick was broken, the complete lack of libido he’d been experiencing in the past couple of months an after effect of pregnancy, but it’s roaring back into life as Geno squeezes his ass and kisses him again.

“Get inside,” Sidney gasps out against his mouth. Geno laughs and pulls back, letting Sidney reach for the duffle as he picks up the suitcases and wheels them in.

Maybe Sidney does know where he’s going next. At least he’s got Geno to figure it out with him.


	6. professor!au -- crosby/malkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I had so many huge plans for this verse, I even got about 8k into a plot outline and then the wheels fell off. Hopefully one day I'll find my mojo and finish.

For three months now, a Timmy’s take out cup and a snack pack of Timbits appear on Associate Professor Geno Malkin’s desk every Thursday, like clockwork.

For three months now, Associate Professor Geno Malkin, known to his friends and coworkers within the Russian Studies department as Zhenya, has been going mad trying to figure out who is gently wooing him from afar with Tim Horton’s.

“It’s  _got_ to be a Canadian. Who else thinks Tim Horton’s is any kind of romantic gesture?” Zhenya exclaims, sipping angrily at his dark roast blend and shoving handfuls of Timbits into his mouth.

Seryozha, head of the Russian Studies department and Zhenya’s long suffering friend, looks on in disgust. Kolya, a fellow professor for the school and another friend (although who suffers more is up for debate), steals a lemon-flavoured Timbit and chews happily.

“Whoever they are, you need to marry them. They obviously know you,” Kolya says, going for another and being violently rebuffed by Zhenya.

“I don’t even like coffee. I like  _tea_.” Zhenya’s whining now, they all know it, but it’s more frustration. Sexual, intellectual, who knows.

“You’ve gone to Tim Horton’s on campus no less than five occasions in the last month, and you always get a different roast than the one you really want, because you want to keep this— whatever  _this_ is,” Seryozha waves a hand at Zhenya’s whole being, meant to encompass the mess his friend has become, “special.”

Zhenya stops chewing and takes another sip of the coffee. It’s strong and sweet, and he wants to know who this person is, so he can kiss them and maybe stick his hands down their pants. He’d come to terms with his bisexuality somewhere between his Honours year and defending his PhD thesis, so he’s pretty sure he’ll enjoy whatever he finds down there.

“Put a trap down. Get one of those nanny cams or something, prop it up on the desk, and you’ll see how they get into your office,” Kolya says, kicking his feet up onto Zhenya’s desk.

Zhenya’s thought of doing that. He just…

“You don’t want to know, do you? It’ll destroy whatever this game is,” Seryozha’s looking actively disgusted now, and Zhenya’s pouting because that’s not fair. If this little game is the most exciting thing to happen to him since his last article was published in International Affairs, well… that’s his business.

There’s a knock on the door. “Come in!” Zhenya yells, looking at his watch. He’s expecting one of his Russian Lit students to come begging for an extension.

Instead, he gets a much nicer surprise.

“Associate Professor Crosby,” Seryozha says with a smile, all shark teeth and pointed gaze. Zhenya glares at him and watches as Sid peers around the door and gives a little wave, straightening up and coming inside.

“Hi guys. Sorry to intrude…” he trails off, his eyes zoning in on the Timbits and the cup clenched in Zhenya’s hand. “You got Timmy’s? You didn’t tell me you were going!” Sidney sounds like Zhenya stabbed his cat or something.

“I didn’t… found in here. Has been happen every week for like, four month now.” Zhenya shrugs, not sure what else to say. He doesn’t want to tell Sid how good it makes him feel, like a teenager again, all shivery and happy and reckless.

“Wow, someone’s trying to romance you with Timmy’s? That’s awesome,” Sid sighs, leaning against Zhenya’s TA’s desk in the corner. Kolya snorts.

“What you need?” Zhenya asks, sipping from his drink and unable to stifle a sigh. Sidney smiles at him, cocking his head a little, and shakes himself from whatever he’s thinking of.

“Oh, uh. I’m about to submit our proposal for RUS342. I wanted you to look over it and make sure—”  
  
“Sid. I’m tell you fifty times, is  _great_. We been working on for how long now?” Zhenya stands up, putting his cup down and coming to stand in front of Sid, shielding him from the others.

“Almost a year,” Sid says, biting his lip. Zhenya swallows his moan, because Sid can do thoughtless sexiness better than  _anyone_  Zhenya’s ever met. That, paired with the pressed shirt and khaki slacks Sid’s wearing, is enough to do Zhenya in completely.

“Exactly. You do perfect, I do all legwork. We good. If you think we go, then we good.” Zhenya squeezes and watches as Sid’s eyelashes flutter under the pressure.

It’s been the worst kind of torture, creating a new class as a crossover between the History and Russian Studies departments. Zhenya knew Sid from some of his students and their raving about how cool and smart Associate Professor Crosby was (many of them also commenting on Associate Professor Crosby’s  _amazing_ ass), so when he was approached by Sid to work on creating a class together, he jumped at the opportunity.

It’s meant countless long nights and intense research to prepare the reading lists, working together to formulate weekly plans and assignments and marking matrixes between their own academia. Sid was working with a PhD candidate and an Honours student with their theses, while Geno was writing several articles and coordinating three classes. But he’d enjoyed their time together so much, and their submission meant that time was coming to a close.

They’d co-chair the class next year, if it was picked up, but they’d lecture in different halves of the semester and split the marking between their TA’s, meaning not much interaction, if at all.

“If you say so,” Sid says. Zhenya nods and steps back, hands on his hips. 

“Go on. Go submit class. Tell me how it go.”

Sid nods and waves goodbye, flashing one last smile before ducking out.

“You need to tell him you want his babies already,” Kolya says before the door shuts. Zhenya picks up the nearest thing and throws it at his face, which happens to be a stuffed toy of their mascot. It bounces off Kolya’s face with a laugh.

* * *

 

Zhenya, in a fit of desperation and another call from his mama demanding to know when he’s going to give her grandchildren, follows Kolya’s advice and sets up his computer on Wednesday night to record.

When he arrives on Thursday morning to a piping hot cup of Timmy’s and Timbits, the camera light he hid with a piece of coloured duct tape is still flashing. He sits down in his chair, eats some Timbits and sips from his cup, and offers up a silent prayer that this doesn’t backfire completely on him. He thinks it might very well break him if it’s just Kolya playing some long, convoluted prank.

He fast forwards through fourteen hours of pointless filming, and then he chokes on a Timbit as the culprit sneaks on screen, finally revealed to Zhenya after all this time. He swallows and takes a bracing drink, and stops the tape and rewinds, playing it in real time.

It’s  _Sid_.

Sid, for the past four months, has been getting there three minutes before Zhenya comes to his office. Sid, for the past four months, has been bringing in a tray and carefully arranging Zhenya’s cup next to the Timbits, his lip caught between his teeth. Sid’s brow is furrowed in concentration and the small, helpless smile he has when he finishes and slips back out seals whatever deal Zhenya’s been waiting on.

He doesn’t have the patience for wooing Sid like this, but he looks at his clock and knows Sid won’t leave his office for another twenty minutes. So, he charges down the corridor, clattering down a flight of stairs until he reaches the History department’s floor. Sid’s office is second to the left from the staircase, and he knocks on Sid’s door and waits for the, “it’s open!”

He takes a beat to steady his breathing and checks himself in the fogged glass before rolling his eyes at his stupidly fluttering heart. Sid’s at his desk, his own Timmy’s cup and a sandwich bagel on his desk, with Duck Dynasty paused on his laptop screen.

“Sid,” Zhenya starts. Sid smiles at him, turning in his seat and standing up.

“Morning, G. Everything okay?” he asks. Zhenya, he just. He doesn’t know how to vocalise how much he appreciates everything Sid is, and will continue to be, doing this kind of prolonged and ridiculously cute  _thing_  for as long as he did. It’s all too much. So he cannot be blamed when he tugs at Sid’s sweater to pull him in until their chests are flush. 

“Oh,” Sid says, his eyes wide as they drop to Zhenya’s mouth. Looks like they’re not playing anymore.

“I’m know it you,” Zhenya says. Sid blushes beet red, and Zhenya refuses to let Sid be embarrassed about this.

“I only find out three minutes ago. Sid very sneaky. I’m… I’m very happy I know, because it means I can ask to kiss you, now. Won’t have to just think of you, jerk off alone and sad at night.”

Sid giggles, shaking his head, but he holds Zhenya close and tilts his head up.

“Alright then. You should definitely kiss me. We can talk about your jerking off program changing after that.”

Never let it be said Zhenya can’t follow orders, especially not when it means he gets his hands on Professor Crosby’s ass as they finally kiss, deep and lush.

Sid tastes like coffee. Zhenya probably tastes like Timbits.

He figures he owes Tim Horton a thanks at some point.


	7. starbucks!au -- de leo/comrie

Eric is on the worst date of his life, and he’s pretty sure he’s going to have to fake an injury just to escape.

Hilary had meant well, setting him up with a friend of her hairdresser’s, but his blind date is just  _so_ _boring_ and they have nothing in common. He’s really trying hard to be attentive. It’s not working at all. Pete is nice in a really bland way, and it hurts because he’s exactly Eric’s speed. Fit and relatively good looking, he’s got a sweet smile and is studying to be a teacher at college and works at Jamba Juice. For some reason beyond Eric, whatever chemistry they  _should_ have is completely non-existent. He wants to cry.

It doesn’t help that his best friend of over ten years, Chase, is currently glaring at them from the counter, ignoring customers to watch Eric’s date crash and burn.

* * *

 

He doesn’t know why he agreed to this. It must’ve been a combination of being worn down by Hilary and Mike insisting he needs to get over his pining for Chase, because over five years of being in unrequited love with anyone is just too pathetic.

“I had a really great time,” Pete says once Eric manages to fake a text from his mom, calling him back home. Eric hums, as noncommittal as he can manage, because he’s only actually been on three dates since coming out at fifteen. He is the least smooth guy in the history of dating, and it’s just— he is never, ever doing this shit again.

He’ll stay single for the rest of his life. Pining for Chase isn’t so bad.

They stand up; the place is dead, bar them, Chase and Fi, who is an exuberant theatre major on close with Chase.

Pete smiles and leans in, and Eric sighs, resigning himself to a boring peck to end a boring date. Instead, Pete brings his A-game and Eric finds himself being kissed to within an inch of his life. When Pete pulls back, Eric’s face is flushed and his knees are a little quivery.

“Woah,” he says, before he can stop himself.

Pete smirks and winks. “I’ll call you,” he says and walks on out, leaving Eric to collapse back in his chair.

“So?” Chase says, breaking him from his thoughts a few minutes later.

Eric looks up to see Chase standing there, looking pissy as hell in his Starbucks uniform, the black slacks and dark green shirt doing wonders for his tanned complexion. His hair is longer than he usually lets it go, the sun streaking it golden and wavy around his face. He’s shorter than Eric but he’s solid and built, and everything about him makes Eric want to vibrate apart with happiness. It always has, ever since they met as kids and became best friends.

“So what?” Eric says. Chase rolls his eyes but holds out a to-go cup, disappearing to grab his gear as he wipes down Eric’s table. “Stack the chairs so we can go,” he calls over his shoulder, jogging towards the register while Fi closes it out. Eric opens the lid and smiles. Chase had made him a hot chocolate earlier, piling it high with whipped cream and marshmallows, and he’s given Eric a white chocolate mocha this time.

He stacks all the chairs while Chase finishes whatever he needs to and pulls on his jacket and cap, waiting outside until Fi closes up and bids them goodnight. They both live within walking distance but Eric has driven in, so he nudges Chase as he sips his coffee and heads towards his car.

“How’d the date go?” Chase says as Eric pulls away from the curb into the street, merging into the traffic without causing an accident. He smells of sweat, coffee and chocolate.

“You  _know_  how it went, you were there, glaring at me and ignoring my calls for help!” Eric snaps, because Chase had insisted that they go to his particular Starbucks to help Eric out if he needed it — not that he fucking did. Chase snorts.

“Looked like you were enjoying yourself at the end, there,” Chase mutters. Eric frowns.

“What the hell is your problem? Are you— is this some kind of delayed homophobic thing?” he says. Chase’s jaw drops, and as Eric pulls up at a red light, he leans over and punches him.  _Hard_.

“Fuck you for even suggesting that! When did I ever make you think I was a homophobe?” Chase yells.

“Why are you being such an asshole about this, Chase? It was your goddamned idea that I come to  _your_ work for this stupid blind date in the first place!” Eric’s mad now, because his date was shitty and he’s been getting so sick and tired of being so stuck over Chase.

“Because I didn’t think it’d suck so much watching you kiss some guy! And be all happy and let him make you laugh! That’s  _my_  job!” Chase explodes.

Eric is stunned. It honest to god sounds like Chase is jealous, but that can’t be right.

He drives in silence, back rigid, and they pull into Chase’s driveway. He kills the ignition and Chase sighs, sagging in his seat.

“Look, I… we’ve been best friends for a long time. And I know I’m not— I mean, I’ve seen your boyfriends before and whatever. They’re all super smart, and tall, and into all the things you’re into, and I’m not any of that stuff. It’s always bothered me, and I never knew why. I thought maybe I was like, not happy about you being gay, but that wasn’t it at all.”

Eric’s heart is in his throat as Chase turns in his seat, looking utterly miserable.

“I was just really bummed it wasn’t me getting to kiss you and hold your hand and make you happy like that. So I tried so hard to be that guy for you. Like, the awesome best friend. And I went out with a bunch of girls and acted like a douche but it never solved anything. This is probably gonna fuck everything up between us, and I’m really sorry. I just, I’ll get over it, but like. I thought I owed you an explanation for why I was being an asshole tonight.”

Chase is out the car before Eric can reply, not that he knows what he’d say anyway. It takes him a minute or two before he gets out and heads inside, Chase’s mom kissing his cheeks and telling him Chase is in the shower, washing the Starbucks off him. They laugh; an old joke between them, and Eric heads into Chase’s room and sits on the edge of his bed.

He stays there and thinks, until Chase walks in wearing ratty old plaid boxers and a towel over his head, rubbing furiously. When he appears, his face is red and his hair is crazy.

Eric really doesn’t know why he didn’t do this in the car.

“Eric—” Chase starts, but Eric’s up on his feet and pulling Chase in, kissing him while he’s still got the chance.

Chase melts against him, wrapping his arms around Eric’s waist, his body warm and solid against Eric’s. It’s weird, kissing someone so much shorter than him like this. He can’t find it in himself to care if he gets a crick in his neck or a sore back, because Chase’s mouth is clever and wet, his hand sliding up to rest against Eric’s neck, guiding his face as they kiss. The sounds are slick and obscene in the quiet of the room, and Chase kicks the door closed and pushes them back to his bed. He shoves Eric down and gets on top, ducking in to kiss Eric again and again and again.

“Why?” Chase says, moving to suck a hickie under his jaw. Eric’s rock hard and his fingers are digging into Chase’s hips, pulling his dick down to grind against Eric’s. They moan in unison, and Chase fights to pull Eric’s nice shirt off, his fingers slipping on the buttons. Eric sits up to help Chase out, grinning.

“Because I’ve been into you for like,  _years_. I never thought you liked me in that way,” Eric says. Chase groans, dropping his head on Eric’s shoulder, now bare.

“We are so dumb. We could’ve been doing this since we were like…  _fuck_ , I just—” Chase says, before he cups Eric’s face to kiss him again. Eric manages to undo his belt and shimmy off his jeans, Chase helping as much as he can without letting go of Eric’s face, which is hilarious enough in itself. Then Eric gets his fingers under Chase’s boxers to squeeze at the warm flesh and everything goes warm and fuzzy.

* * *

 

Eric’s woken up criminally early the next morning by Chase kissing a path along Eric’s bare chest.

“Creep,” Eric says, without opening his eyes. Chase laughs and Eric cracks one open to watch him, sleep mussed and doe eyed, looking so impossibly happy because of Eric.

“This is weird, isn’t it?” Chase says, once Eric’s rubbed his eye and Chase has slid closer, tangling their legs and propping his chin up against Eric’s chest. Eric shrugs, running his fingers up and down Chase’s spine. He actually gets to touch his best friend like this, now.

“I don’t think so?” Eric says. Chase grins, ducking in to kiss him.

“Good, because Mom came in while you were sleeping and got an eyeful, so. She kind of knows. She said  _mazel tov_ , and that we should use condoms.”

Eric groans, slapping a hand over his face. Of course.

“So, uh,” Chase starts up, and Eric moves his hand. Chase looks awkward and sits up, his duvet barely covering his dick. “You’re… what about that Pete guy?”

“What about him?”

Chase glares, slugging Eric in the thigh. He laughs and sits up as well.

“It’s a dumb fucking question! I’ll tell him it didn’t work out, or whatever. I’ll think of something.”

“I mean… I guess if you wanted to be like, not exclusive or whatever, we could try that…” Chase trails off, sounding very much like the idea makes him want to throw himself off a cliff.

“No, dumbass, one guy is quite enough for me.”

“Good. Because I plan on being that one guy for a really long fucking time, alright?” Chase says. Eric smiles right back. His stupid dumb chest feels like it’s going to explode with feelings, and when Chase leans down to kiss him, slow and warm, he can’t help the happy hum that escapes. 


	8. de leo/comrie pining!au

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for this derived from [here](http://cathedralhearts.tumblr.com/post/102519535477), and the knowledge of how absolutely crap it is living in a state that is known for its sweltering summers (except I'm Australian and our summers are definitely, definitely, _definitely_ worse).

It’s summer, and it’s at least 90 in the shade, and Eric wants to throw himself off the nearest cliff into the sea. Living in California as a Canadian is a new kind of torture that should only be reserved for Satan and his circles of Hell.

If he ever fucks up badly enough to be deserving of his own personal circle in Hell, that is, it’s guaranteed that it will consist of a day like today, and he’ll be stuck on a beach. His skin will bubble and turn lobster red, and it’ll take a week of practically bathing in aloe to recover before it starts all over again. 

“C’mon Commers, let’s  _go!_ ” Chase is yelling from the front yard, where he’s on a bike, shirtless and acting like a huge fucking asshole. Eric grits his teeth.

 

They’ve just finished their freshman year together at UCLA, and the entire break is stretching far and wide in front of them, full of possibility and horrible weather. Chase’s on an athletic scholarship for baseball and trying to decide between Economics or Management, while Eric’s on the Dean’s List and has already picked a Computer Science and Engineering double major. They couldn’t be more different if they tried, honest to God.

Eric spends at least an hour every day wondering how the hell they ended up being best friends, or  _why_ Chase has stubbornly refused to let Eric drift away. It’s not for lack of trying. 

*

Eric had spent most of junior and senior year in high school trying to give Chase a wide berth, enough room to breathe with his jock friends and hot girls hanging off him, but the more Eric tried to recede into the background, the harder Chase clung on. 

“Why didn’t you come over Saturday night?” Chase had demanded on a Monday morning two weeks into junior year. Eric was at his locker, trying to find his books for AP Chemistry, while Chase stood in front of him, wearing a henley and a pissed off expression. Even at sixteen his body was ridiculous, and Eric had honestly been getting tired of having to hide the fact he was constantly staring. It was bad to be thinking gay shit about his super straight best friend, so. Space was good for everyone.

Saturday nights was Mexican night at the De Leo house, and Eric had been going since they were ten. He had only missed a handful over nine years, because of illness or being back in Edmonton. Apparently Chase was going to hold him to that, even in high school. 

His mom and dad were surprised that he was home for a Saturday, planning on getting Burger King and watching The Good Wife, and Eric had awkwardly third wheeled with them, hating every second he wasn’t with the De Leos.

“I was sick,” Eric lied, because it was better than, “I’m so in love with you and I thought a weekend apart would help.”

“Oh. That explains why you didn’t answer my fifty billion texts, asshole. Let me know next time. Get your mom to text me.” 

Chase had still looked pissed but walked off to his World History class, leaving Eric slumped against his locker and staring at the shitty tiles on the ceiling. 

Every party they went to, Eric tried to disappear with his friends to the back room to play XBox, but Chase would always find him and stick to his side, throwing off Eric’s game entirely and getting shitfaced. Eric would be forced to play designated friend and get them back to his place, Chase slumped against him, pawing at his face and telling Eric how awesome he was.

The summers were worse, because Chase would bust out the tank tops or go entirely shirtless, and senior year in general was an exercise in dick torture. So, yeah. Eric has honestly  _tried_  to get away, as miserable as it made him feel, and it only served to make things worse.

*

“Dude, you okay?” Chase’s voice floats across Eric, snapping him from where he’s zoned out and clutching the hall stand. Eric blinks and looks around, Chase standing there, his sunglasses pushed up onto his head. He’s got a baseball cap on backwards and looks worried, his sun streaked curls poking out in a wild mess. 

Eric wants to push him up against the wall, and kiss him until he can’t breathe. 

“Yeah, ‘m fine. Just tired,” Eric says, pushing past him and walking outside.

“We both know that’s bullshit,” Chase says before Eric’s even cleared three feet. Eric freezes and squeezes his eyes shut.  _Don’t do this now, please don’t do this now. Just give me until the end of college. I’m not strong enough to do this now_.

“W-what?” Eric says, his voice shaking a little. Chase says nothing, so Eric turns around to look at him. Chase’s hands are in his pockets and he looks miserable.

“Look, I… just tell me, okay? I know something’s going on with you, so just, fucking spit it out.”

_Fuck, no, please–-_

“Chase, what the hell, nothing’s going on with me.” It sounds fake and hollow, even to his ears, and he winces. 

“ _Bullshit_. The past three years you’ve been…. you’ve been pulling away from me. You wanna hang out less, you text me back less. I barely saw you on campus the last three months. I know you’re doing a crazy complicated degree and I’m always on the road with the team, but even then, I  _always_ make time for you. I synced you to my calendar so you’d know when I was free!” Chase’s hands are wild now, and he moves up into Eric’s space, radiating hurt.

“Is it because I’m just some dumb baseball player now, is that it? Since when did I stop being good enough for you?”

“Jesus, Chase, it’s not that at all! Why the hell would you say that?”

“Oh, but it  _is_ something, isn’t it?” Chase is like a dog with lockjaw when he gets stuck into something, ruthless and he’ll never let go, and Eric can see their friendship disintegrating on this asshole of a sunny afternoon in June. He isn’t ready.

“N-no, stop twisting my words. Look, nothing’s wrong, I just thought you might want some space to hang out with people your own… y’know. Level. Above me. It’s just-– it’s nothing. I’m sorry. I didn’t realise it was hurting you. I won’t do it anymore.”

Chase looks flabbergasted, his jaw dropped and his eyes wide. “What. The fuck.  _Above you?_  Who the hell could  _ever_ be above you in my life?”

Eric really wants to punch something when Chase says shit like this, because it’s just not fair.

“C’mon Chase, don’t say stuff like that.”

“Why, because it’s too  _gay_  for you?” Chase says hotly, crossing his arms tightly. Eric’s mouth goes dry.

“The hell? What’s that got to do with anything?”

“Obviously this is because I’m as see through as a fucking wet t-shirt, man. Is this your way of telling me you’re not interested? Because I honestly thought you weren’t that much of a dick, but _obviously_ I was wrong.” Chase is getting angrier and angrier, and Eric knows he’s got about ten seconds before Chase loses it entirely and storms out of his life forever.

“Ga– not interested? In  _you?_  Since when have you ever shown me you’re interested in me?” Eric yelps. 

Chase scoffs. “Oh come  _on_. I basically threw myself at you all of high school. I spent like, every party draped over you. I constantly was telling you how fucking awesome you were and how much I liked you. We went on dates all the time!”

“What dates?” Eric feels this spinning wildly out of control, because apparently Chase was trying to woo the hell out of him while he was busy being stuck on the fact he could never have Chase. It sounds like a storyline out of some shitty young adult book.

“Uh, we went out every Friday for like, the last seven months of high school? We spent pretty much  _every day together_  last summer? My mom was more surprised when I was home than when I wasn’t. Oh, and I pretty much  _stalked_  you for most of freshman year at college because you never talked to me. I bought you dinner and sat with you during finals prep, every night you were at the library, for fuck’s sake!” Chase looks embarrassed now, as he ticks off the events on his fingers, and Eric is really starting to feel like the biggest pigeon ever.

“How the hell didn’t I notice all of this?” he says, leaning against the wall. 

Chase huffs, shrugging. “Too busy trying to give me space I didn’t fucking want, or ask for. _Apparently_.” He takes a beat to eyeball Eric, and Eric flushes.

“There’s hotter guys on your team. What’s so special about me?” Eric says. Chase sighs and rubs the heels of his palms into his eyes, before coming to stand in front of Eric, barely a foot between them.

“You are the most amazing dude I have ever met, and I mean that. You’re smart, and hilarious, and sexy-–  _to_   _me_. I don’t care if nobody else finds you sexy ever again, because that’s exactly what I want. I don’t know what else to say. You’ve been my best friend for so long, I didn’t know what to do when I started to fall for you.”

“Your sister told me your parents don’t even like Mexican food that much,” Eric says, half in a trance. He’s remembering a weird moment from Chase’s 18th, when Melanie was sitting with him as they shared a Corona. Chase goes bright pink.

“Yeah. Dad gets gas. He loves the food but it’s pretty gross. Mom’s been trying to get me to change the theme for years, but uh…”

“You kept it because I like Mexican food,” Eric finishes. Chase nods and looks down at his feet.

“Yeah. I hoped it’d… it was our thing, and I liked that you liked my family. That you fit in so well. Made me think that maybe one day it could work out.”

“We can eat something else tomorrow,” Eric says, and Chase looks up.

“…What?“ 

“I said, change the theme. It’s been almost ten years of you guys suffering through your dad’s farts for me. So let’s change the theme.”

Chase blinks, and a smile slowly creeps across his face. He bites his lip and laughs, shaking his head. “How about Asian? Gives us enough variety and my dad won’t have to sleep on the couch,” he says. Eric nods. He likes the sound of that.

“C’mere and kiss me. I wanna know if all the rumours about the De Leos and their kissing are true,” Eric says, reaching out to tug at Chase’s necklace. Chase laughs again, brighter and louder this time, and comes willingly, pressing up against Eric’s front.

“Is this really happening?” he says, eyes dropping to watch Eric’s mouth. Eric lips his lips and nods.

“Yeah, I think so,” he says, before tilting his head down so Chase can get at his mouth. There’s at least half a foot between them, and he has a feeling he’s always going to be dealing with cricks in his neck for the sake of kissing.

When Chase’s tongue licks into his mouth, Eric can’t help but moan, his fingers tightening in the sun warmed skin of Chase’s hips. Chase wraps his arms a little tighter around Eric.

* * *

Saturday rolls around and Eric drives to the De Leos, dressed in shorts, boat shoes and a v-neck t-shirt; his outfit for the summer, ever summer, since as long as he can remember. Except this time Chase is waiting on the front porch, licking at an iceblock and wearing nothing but shorts. His curls are wild and his skin seems even more tan than last time Eric saw him. 

The sun’s set and he can smell dinner wafting out the front door, left wide open, with what sounds like a Kings game blaring in the background. 

“Lookin’ good, De Leo,” Eric says as Chase stands up and tugs him in for a kiss, his lips cool and slick.

“Mom made stir fry,” Chase says, and laces their fingers together.

“ _Already?_ ” Eric whispers as they head inside, Chase kicking the door closed and cracking his neck, tugging them through the lounge room and past his sister and her boyfriend-– both of whom just grunt greetings and go back to screaming at the Kings power play. 

“I told ‘em yesterday. I’ve been crazy over you for years; I told them that, and then I told Mom no more Mexican night. I don’t know what she was happier about,” Chase laughs, before they get to the kitchen. Eric blushes bright red as Chase’s mom looks up from the kitchen stove and bursts into a huge smile.

“Oh, look how cute you two are! Eric, sweetie, Chase told us you were so embarrassed about the Mexican thing!” she says, bustling over to kiss and hug him. Chase doesn’t let go.

“I swear to God, if I had known what Chase was doing and how much you were suffering, I would’ve stopped it years ago. I don’t like Mexican  _that_ much,” he says hurriedly. Chase’s mom laughs and shakes her head, patting his shoulder.

“Not a problem, darling. Except you’re both insane if you think sleepovers with closed doors are ever happening again now. Should’ve kept it on the down low for a few months, baby,” Chase’s mom says, winking at him. Chase shrugs, tossing his lolly stick in the bin, and dropping a kiss on Eric’s shoulder.

“Who cares, I’ll just make out with him in front of you.”

“And I’ll turn the hose on you,” Chase’s mom grumbles, making Eric chuckle. 

“C’mon, let’s go watch the Kings. I think they’re gonna steamroll the Jets, and I wanna witness the glory.”

 

It feels so normal to sit down next to Chase and to watch the hockey, to get ribbed goodnaturedly from Chase’s sister and talk engineering shit with her boyfriend, and then to sit at the table with the De Leo’s and eat amazing food one handed, because he just can’t seem to let go of Chase’s fingers.

“Honeymoon phase,” Chase dad says with a smirk as Chase tries to twirl his noodles with his left hand, to limited success. Eric blushes and lets go, but Chase pouts and grabs at his hand again, holding on tight. 

“I’ll get there, man. I need to eat slower anyway,” he shrugs, apparently unbothered. The rest of his family just rolls their eyes and go back to discussing the Kings prospects for the season. 

Eric can’t help but sit back, enjoying the hell out of his life. Tomorrow he’ll invite Chase over for a barbecue with his family; Ty’s always around, and Mike and his family are coming over, so he figures it’ll be a good as time as any to come out. His mom’s been a member of PFLAG for years after his cousin Stacey came out, so he figures his odds on not getting disowned are pretty good. He’s not even that worried, can’t even remember why he ever was. 

He just feels invincible right now. 


	9. the one where they're obgyns - crosby/malkin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> let's set the scene: it's 2014, i've just started watching _the mindy project_ , i'm starting my masters degree, and this seems like a better idea than writing an essay. knowledge of the show is not required to enjoy this silliness.

Geno’s been in Pittsburgh all of four days, and Sidney’s already taken to spending all his spare time in the kitchen, or leaning by the reception desk in case Geno walks past. He’s doing _anything_ to enhance their opportunities to talk, or to get another of those smiles aimed his way; one of the ones that starts small and slowly spreads outward.

*

Geno is Jeremy’s replacement to cover his medical hiatus (which is Jeremy’s way of saying he needs lap band surgery and wants to come back skinny to re-assume his manwhoring) and comes highly recommended for the simple fact they went to medical school together in London. How a Russian ended up in London is beyond anyone at the practise, but Sidney’s not going to ask… no matter how badly he wants to know.

Geno’s exactly his speed, is the problem, and he hasn’t gotten laid for over six months. James and Pascal keep telling him he needs to get a boyfriend already, and there’s only so long Sidney can demand that they fuck right off before those words fall on deaf ears.

Sidney  _wants_  Geno. He wants to climb Geno like a tree and kiss his stupid mouth until their lips are bruised, and wants to ride him until one of them breaks. The sexual desire Sidney has for Geno is -- quite frankly -- breathtaking, and wandering around the maternity ward before surgery turns out to be the worst fucking idea. Because  _of course_  Geno’s in the nursery, cuddling a baby he’d delivered a day earlier.

“Sid!” he whispers loudly, wriggling his fingers at Sidney. Sidney had planned on doing a not-creepy walk by the doorway as soon as he spotted Geno, just so he could maybe sigh and work in some fantasising about Geno viciously fucking him in the doctor’s lounge. Sidney bites down on a moan and heads over, washing his hands at the sink before peering up at the tiny baby in Geno’s arms, wriggling in her pink blanket.

“This is Stella. She's my delivery yesterday,” Geno says softly. Sidney smiles and rubs a finger along her cheek, her skin downy soft. She yawns and he giggles, because babies are the best things in the world. 

He doesn’t tell Geno that he knows she was his delivery yesterday; he’s memorised Geno’s deliveries and appointments since he arrived and will probably do it until he goes, just so Sidney can create elaborate opportunities to bump into him. 

“Oh,” is all Sidney says, tucking his hands in his scrubs pockets and looking up at Geno. Geno smiles back at him, his eyes crinkling at the corners, and he puts Stella back into her crib and guides Sidney out, a hand low and warm in the middle of his back.

“You eat yet?” Geno asks as they head towards the elevators. Sidney’s only in the hospital because he has a c-section scheduled in a couple of hours, and had just finished talking with the parents. He likes that personal touch, thinks it makes him a better surgeon knowing who he’s slicing into. It makes him more steady, more focused.

“Nah, I’ve got a c-section in a few hours,” Sidney sighs. Geno pouts, and Sidney finds himself backtracking quickly to amend with, “but we can get a coffee or something downstairs?" 

"Good,” Geno says, his grin back. Sidney follows him into the elevator and smiles all the way down to the ground floor, their elbows brushing as Geno tells him about the twins his next patient is expecting.

“Twins, Sid!  _Twins!_ They going to gay couple, surrogate mama,” Geno says as the numbers tick by. Sidney blinks.

“Oh?” he finally manages to choke out. 

Geno nods firmly, rocking back and forth on his heels, his hands clasped behind his back, watching the numbers blink by with a smile.

“Yes. Very jealous, I’m tell them I look for surrogate too, give me twin babies… but no boyfriend.” Geno’s started looking a little nervous, and he shoots a glance at Sidney as the doors open. Sidney feels like he’s just been punched, all dazed and confused.

“Oh. Uh, I mean. That’s… I’m sure you could do a great job with twins, even alone,” Sidney blurts. Geno laughs, and Sidney curses inwardly. He needs to somehow tell Geno he’s gay as well. He mightn’t get the chance again, and if Geno goes back to London without Sidney at least  _trying-–_

“I’m gay too! By the way, I mean. Uh. I don’t have a boyfriend either. It’s hard, you know, being a doctor and on call and babies everywhere. I used to have a boyfriend but he cheated on me and then went to Afghanistan so that sucked, and it’s been a long time so it’s like, hard to get back out there so I’m nervous.” Sidney’s outburst has turned into rambling, as it does when he’s nervous, and he knows he’s rambling but he can’t stop the word vomit as he reaches for his wallet.

“Nice to know, Sid. Was hoping you gay, or bi. I get this, you buy dinner after c-section, yes?” Geno says. Sidney’s mouth goes slack, because  _what_.

“Yes. I-I mean,  _yes_. I will buy dinner for us, tonight. Yes.”

Geno’s eye-crinkling smile is in full force, as are the dimples, and he flashes two fingers at the girl behind the counter and says, “One large latte, one large mocha with extra chocolate." He tilts his head a little and winks at Sidney, tapping his nose.

Apparently he’s been watching Sidney as much as Sidney’s been watching him, if he knows Sidney’s secret indulgence of extra chocolate in his mochas.

Any hope Sidney had of escaping this without throwing himself at Geno in the public cafeteria is rapidly dwindling. 


End file.
